


Burning Glances, Turning Heads

by Inkyrius



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Background Laevatein/Sharena, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/F, First Meetings, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-25 21:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16206074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkyrius/pseuds/Inkyrius
Summary: Laegjarn and Laevatein are sent on a diplomatic mission to a masquerade party. The evening turns out to be less of a waste of time than Laegjarn has expected.





	Burning Glances, Turning Heads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilMuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/gifts).



> If you're interested in the dance Fjorm and Laegjarn are doing in the middle, I based it off of [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWbB6Liodes) of a Swedish minuet. Tell me it wouldn't look cool being performed by women in cloaks.

Laegjarn looks down over the crowd. The balcony is a poor substitute for the back of a wyvern, but she’s more comfortable surveying the situation before getting involved. It’s hardly the worst habit she’s picked up from her training.

Laevatein is easy to pick out, would be even if Laegjarn hadn’t helped her pick out the raven mask she’s wearing. She’d refused to hide her hair, instead letting it cascade down her back like a river of lava. Laegjarn can’t help but smile at the sight. Laevatein’s hair is her only vanity, and even then she’s normally so strict about keeping it tied back and out of the way. Wearing it loose like this is an admission that she’s not expecting a fight. Maybe she’ll be able to relax, even have some fun.

Laegjarn wishes she could say the same for herself. Unfortunately, Father had refused to come, calling the ball a “celebration of weakness”. “They’ll all be consumed by the flames of Múspell soon,” he’d said, “so why join their pathetic games?”

That hadn’t stopped him from sending his daughters in his stead. Maintaining a pretense of cordiality would only make it easier when it was time to invade.

Laegjarn had been pleased to hear it, if only because it was a chance for Laevatein to get away from her endless training for a night. She’d insisted that Laevatein leave all the diplomacy to her. Laevatein wasn’t exactly good at it anyway, and this way she wouldn’t retreat into the dutiful daughter persona.

It was the right decision. Laegjarn doesn’t regret it in the slightest. That said, she isn’t looking forward to following through with it. She never knows what to talk about with foreign royalty. They all seem to live such pampered lives, and they expect that she’ll be able to relate when they tell funny stories about disobeying their parents or making careless mistakes. All she can do is smile and play along.

But it’s her duty, and she’s been putting it off for long enough. She must already look odd, standing apart from the crowd like this. She touches her mask, making sure it’s still firmly affixed to her face. Then she pushes away from the railing and descends to the ballroom floor.

Unlike her sister, she’s adhering to the spirit of the masquerade, draped in a shapeless black cloak that hides most of her body. She blends in with the crowd that way. Her mask is the only clue to her identity, ash grey and patterned with flames. Even that is enough to put many of the party-goers on edge. She knows her father is unpopular, but seeing their fear in person always is disheartening. She doesn’t even try to approach them.

She’d distracted from her self-pity when a stranger walks up to her, apparently without fear. “Do I know you?” she asks. Her voice is silvery and provides little information about her identity. Her outfit is equally unhelpful. She too is wearing a cloak, though hers is white and patterned to give the impression of feathers. Completing the illusion is the owl mask on her face.

Laegjarn shakes her head. “You may,” she says, “but I doubt I know you.”

“How enigmatic,” the feathered woman says. “In that case, how are you enjoying the party, person I may or may not know?”

“It’s quite impressive,” Laegjarn says, amused. There’s something to be said for someone so bold and forthright, particularly at a masquerade full of royalty. She’d been expecting honeyed words and pretty lies. She’s practiced hers for the occasion, and can’t resist adding, “Even better now that I have the pleasure of your company.”

The woman laughs. “Thank you, but I’m sure you say that to everyone.”

“Actually, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to all night.”

“Really? You cut such a striking figure, I would have thought you’d be swarmed by admirers.” She shakes her head. “I apologize, that was very forward of me. I hope I haven’t offended you too terribly.”

“What’s to take offense to? I’m flattered.” Laegjarn doesn’t know that her figure can actually be seen under her cloak, but she appreciates the thought, all the more so for the woman’s apparent sincerity. Either she’s able to blush on command, or the slight flush on her cheeks proves the intent behind her words. But as much as Laegjarn would like to probe further, she isn’t here just to flirt. She must make her loyalties known. “However, I’m afraid my mask has been enough to make people cautious, and with good reason. You shouldn’t get too close. You might get burnt.”

“I’ll be all right,” the stranger says. “Try as it might, fire cannot burn ice, and will only quench itself in the attempt.”

Ah, so she’s from Nifl. That would certainly explain the cloak. More interestingly, her response came so quickly and fluidly as to seem rehearsed. Laegjarn wonders if she’s caught wind of her father’s plans. Perhaps she ought to spend more time with her after all. Father can’t fault her for trying to gather intelligence. “Fair enough,” she says lightly. “In that case, would you care to dance?”

“I would like that,” the woman says, and leads Laegjarn into the center of the room.

The musicians seem to be winding down, so Laegjarn takes her place across from the stranger, waiting for the next song to strike up. The first strains of the violin bring a smile to her face. She’s always enjoyed the minuet.

She takes a step towards the stranger, and the dance begins. The woman falls naturally into the pattern, twirling towards Laegjarn and backing away with grace. Even so, Laegjarn can’t help but notice the way she plants her feet at every pause, sturdy and unwavering.

They draw closer together, circling each other. Laegjarn takes the chance to say, “Your footwork is impressive. What weapon do you favor?”

The woman rests one hand on Laegjarn’s shoulder, wraps the other around her back. Laegjarn mirrors the gesture. “Thank you, but it’s nothing special.” They begin to twirl. “My training is primarily in the lance. I’ve never used it in earnest, though, and hope I never have to.”

“How noble of you.” Naïve, but noble. Laegjarn can’t help but note that, were they to fight, the woman would have the advantage.

The woman shrugs a shoulder as they separate. “Perhaps. I doubt my preferences will have much to do with it, though. I will do what I have to for the sake of my country.”

Perhaps she’s not so naïve after all. Laegjarn’s respect for her continues to grow.

She would love to continue this line of discussion, to learn more about this woman’s principles, but the next time they draw together it’s the stranger who speaks first. “You’re not what I expected,” she says. “Everyone speaks of Múspell as if it is a land of brutes. You, though, are both kind and graceful.”

Laegjarn laughs. “You haven’t seen me in Múspell.”

“Perhaps not. I can’t imagine it could transform you so utterly, though.” The woman frowns. “It would be a shame if it did. I like this version of you.”

Laegjarn has no response for that. The music breaks them apart again.

After that, she’s careful to keep the conversation to more neutral matters. She hears about the holiday customs of Nifl, brags about her sister perhaps more than is polite and hears about the woman’s sisters in turn. The motions of the dance keep them from staying on any one subject for long. Laegjarn almost wishes it were a waltz instead, something stuffy and slow-moving that would allow them to have a proper conversation.

The song comes to an end with a flourish. The next one begins, and the woman looks at Laegjarn, her question writ clearly on her face. Laegjarn shakes her head. “I’m afraid I cannot,” she says. “In my father’s absence, it falls to me to maintain Múspell’s diplomatic relations.” For all the good it will do them, she thinks. If only he weren’t so hellbent on conquest.

“I understand,” the white-clad woman says. “However, if you’ll allow it, I would sit with you at dinner.”

“I look forward to it,” Laegjarn says. Her voice is cool, but she’s sure her heart’s skipped a beat. By now, she’s fairly certain she knows the stranger’s identity, but this is an implicit promise to hear it from her firsthand. It’s an invitation to keep in contact after the evening is over. Laegjarn doesn’t know how she’ll manage it, but she has every intention of taking her up on it.

The woman bows, Laegjarn bows in return, and the stranger vanishes back into the crowd.

Laegjarn adjusts her mask until she’s sure she’s banished her giddy smile. Then she scans the crowd once more. The woman in white is nowhere to be seen, but she does see a telltale flash of pink. A closer look reveals that Laevatein has ended up on the dance floor. Her partner seems to be a cheerful blonde in a rabbit mask. Laevatein is making an effort to look disdainful, but to Laegjarn’s eyes, she’s clearly delighted. Perhaps Laegjarn won’t be the only one meeting someone at dinner.

She allows herself to revel in the moment, to drink in the heat of the crowd and the excitement of the night and the possibility of romance and happiness and freedom.

Then she wades back into the fray. She’s still both princess and general, still has a duty to fulfill while she’s here. She can indulge in impossible fantasies on her own time.


End file.
